


Your Burdens I Will Bear

by thesadchicken



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jim being the cutest, M/M, Sickfic, Spock comforting Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is injured on an away mission. When Jim comes to visit him in sickbay, they both discover the immeasurable strength of togetherness.<br/>Written for plaidshirtjimkirk's prompt on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Burdens I Will Bear

**Author's Note:**

> A huge 'thank you' to my tumblr BFF plaidshirtjimkirk <3

Sickbay was quiet during the night shift. The low hum of medical equipment filled the room, and the subtle rumbling of the Enterprise’s engines coursed through the ship like blood pumping through veins. The environment was propitious for meditation, and since Spock had nothing else to do, he stared up at nothing in particular and let the empty sickbay fade into a blur of colors around him.

His mind was immediately drawn to the dull pain in his side – Doctor McCoy’s limited knowledge of Vulcan physiology led to less-than-satisfactory results when it came to healing serious injuries, but at least Spock knew he would not die. A few more days in sickbay and he would be ready to get back to duty.

So he pushed his thoughts away from the pain and back to a calm, meditative state. He directed his consciousness towards the great Vulcan desert, drawing strength from the image of dry canyons and the memory of _le-matya_ howls in the distance.

And yet his mind wavered back to the away mission, back to the dusty surface of the third planet in the Kotanka system, back to the exact moment a primitive alien spear tore through his skin and the ground swirled under his feet and Jim Kirk’s face hovered over him, his parted lips mouthing Spock’s name, and Spock tumbled and the pain was stinging and Jim’s eyes were green, they were so very green…

A swooshing noise pulled Spock out of his memories and back to the cold emptiness of sickbay. Someone had just entered the room. Straightening himself up on the bed, Spock ignored the searing pain in his side and peered over the other bio-beds. Jim Kirk was standing at the door, one of his hands placed lightly against the wall, the other hanging loosely at his side.

“Captain,” Spock started, slamming his palms onto the mattress and pushing himself up.

“Please, don’t get up,” Jim said softly, his voice just above a whisper; as if he were afraid he’d perturb the perfect stillness of the ship’s night.

Spock obeyed, lowering himself onto his elbows. Jim walked up to the bio-bed with infinite modesty, his feet barely scraping the ground, his posture humble and almost a little shy. This was different from the imposing, commanding figure he usually bore – the captain was evidently uncomfortable, although Spock could not fathom why.

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?” Spock asked, tilting his head to the side.

Jim sat down on the adjacent bed, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “Besides listen to McCoy for once and rest until you’re feeling better? No.”

There definitely was a note of amusement in Jim’s voice. The corners of his lips twitched upwards but he did not quite smile. Spock waited for an explanation, unsure of how to act. If the captain wasn’t here for professional reasons, then the only logical conclusion was that he was here for what Humans called a ‘social visit’. Something stirred within Spock – something disturbingly close to a real, genuine emotion.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Spock watched as Jim clasped the hem of his uniform shirt with one hand and ran the other through his auburn hair.

“How’re you feeling?” the captain suddenly said, his voice filling the empty room with gentle vigor.

“I will be fit for duty in approximately forty-eight hours,” Spock answered.

Jim pursed his lips and nodded slowly. Silence once again occupied sickbay. Over the whirr of the various machines in the room, Spock could hear Jim’s even breathing. The captain’s eyes flickered in the dim light.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the edge of Spock’s bed.

Spock nodded, unable to hide his confusion. Jim sat down next to him, a grin slinking onto his face. The mattress slumped under his weight and the warmth from his body seemed to reach Spock even through the sheets.

“I thought you might want some company. You’ve been alone here for a while,” he said with infinite tenderness, his eyebrows curving upwards in a familiar expression of concern.

Spock nodded briefly. It was his way of thanking the captain for his interest – illogical as it was. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words, and suddenly Spock wished there were a Tri-Dimensional chessboard between them, eliminating all possible awkwardness. But it was just Jim and him, face to face in a cold empty room, vulnerable and exposed. It was unnerving, but this did not seem to affect the captain as much as it did Spock.

For a slight moment, Jim’s body shifted on the bed – Spock was almost certain he was about to get up and leave. Then words blurted out of the captain’s rosy lips.

“Risk is our business, I know that,” he said, looking at Spock but speaking to himself, “Risk is our business. But it’s not – it’s not that simple. Because every time something like this happens I feel like I can’t bear it happening again,” Jim’s voice faltered, and Spock knew this was a confession, an admission, a painful revelation.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you like this,” Jim added. However, he made no motion to get up.

Spock knew exactly what Jim was trying to tell him, but he failed to conjure an appropriate response. He stared back blankly into the captain’s eyes; they were no longer green in the dim sickbay light, but deep brown, looking back at Spock with disarming honesty. Something pushed firmly at the mental walls securing Spock’s inner consciousness, and he struggled for control.

“Get some sleep,” Jim smiled weakly, looked away and patted the edge of Spock’s bed.

In a sudden moment of clarity Spock threw himself entirely into the turmoil of conflicting emotions that boiled under the surface of his thick mental walls.

“Jim,” he called, although the captain hadn’t moved an inch.

“Yes, Spock?” hopeful hazel eyes turned towards him.

The silence was no longer heavy. It changed into a promising quietness, and Spock let it linger, appreciating the complicity of this shared stillness.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rasping. “The risks that we take are ours. You must not bear the consequences alone,” he said, and when Jim started to protest he continued, “I do not speak as your first officer…”

 _But as your friend_ , he did not say.

And with all his being, Spock meant it. Rules and regulations stated that in space a captain was responsible for their crew, but on _the Enterprise_ things were different. It would be illogical to deny these facts. Spock was not entirely certain what this signified, but he knew that on this ship the captain did no bear alone the burdens of risk.

Risk was their business, not their curse.

Jim smiled again. “I know,” he whispered, but he did not know, he knew nothing of what troubled the depths under Spock’s mental fortress, or of the way his heart clenched in his side, hopelessly devoted to the sparkle in those hazel-green eyes.

“Can I interest you in a game of chess, Mister Spock?” Jim tilted his head to the side playfully, and the tingling novelty of the moment was gone, replaced by the comfort of familiarity.

And as Spock nodded his approval, he wondered if there would ever be anything else. If there could be anything beyond this moment, beyond the ease with which they accepted each other’s presence – as if they could only exist in this state, here… _together_.


End file.
